I'd Rather be in Paris

by Misty Evans

  The memory of Lawson's kisses surfaced again and a flutter drummed next to her heart.

  Three, she added to her list, stay away from Lawson's lips.

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  Chapter Nineteen

  Lawson finished his second cheese and walnut omelet and took a sip of coffee. Then he reached for his third croissant and buttered it under Christian's watchful eye.

  Christian sat across the glass-topped table, a curious smile on his face, and sipped his own coffee. Lawson knew he should be more polite and make conversation, but at the moment he just wanted to keep eating. The food was delicious and he didn't know what to talk to Christian about anyway. Jobs? The man was a freakin’ ballet teacher.

  Sports? Was ballet a sport? Not to him.

  Zara? No way. Lawson didn't know how much Christian knew about Zara's work with the CIA so that was not a safe topic.

  Where was Zara anyway? It had been over an hour since she'd disappeared into the Tower Room. It didn't take that long to shower and brush your teeth. Lawson had been done and out in ten minutes. Of course, he'd been around his share of women, including his mother and sisters, and he knew how long it took a woman in the bathroom. It took as long as she wanted it to.

  There had been times in the past few days when he'd have sworn Zara was a high-maintenance woman. She had some of the attitude and that girly obsession with clothes, but she wore almost no makeup and kept her hair natural. She actually seemed comfortable with her body and adamant he not instruct her on how to dress.

  "Would you like another omelet?” Christian asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  Lawson swallowed the last bite of croissant and his cell phone vibrated on on his belt. It had been going off for the past few hours, one reason he'd put it on vibrate. Flynn, Annette and Del had left messages. None of which helped him and Zara in the least. “No, thanks, but I'd appreciate a glass of milk."

  Christian raised a hand and the maid appeared. “Marie, bring a glass of milk for Mr. Vaughn."

  As the woman nodded and walked back into the house, alarms went off in Lawson's head. “You know my last name?"

  "In my business, people are my number one asset. I must know all about them to understand them. Who they are and where they come from, what their dreams are and, more importantly, what their fears are. Then I can give them what they want. Or"—he shrugged nonchalantly—"take it away."

  Lawson wondered what business Christian was referring to. “Why would you know about me?"

  "Because of Zara, of course."

  Marie returned with Lawson's milk and he thanked her. She returned to her post out of earshot of the table near the veranda doors.

  Christian sat back in his chair and fiddled with a heavy white cloth napkin. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my Zara from that despicable excuse of a human, Alexandrov Dmitri, earlier this year.” He smoothed the napkin into a triangle. “Whatever you want, Lawson, it is yours."

  Lawson didn't like the way Christian constantly referred to Zara as my Zara, but now at least he knew the man was aware of what had happened. He raised his milk glass in salute. “The shower and the breakfast are more than sufficient payback."

  The man's expression remained serious. “Alexandrov threatened someone I love very dearly. In my opinion, he should not be allowed to walk the Earth, but I am hardly in a position to mete out justice. Zara claims she is all right, and for that, I'm glad. So perhaps one day in your personal or professional life you will need certain information or a favor of some nature. You have only to ask me and I'll provide what you need."

  Lawson finished his milk and stared out at the pool and garden around it. The sun was high enough now its reflection on the water caused the pool to look like a blanket of sparkling diamonds.

  Wealth could buy a lot of things other than a cache of material goods. Loyalty, security, information. He wasn't sure how far to trust Christian, but his gut told him the man could be a valuable asset. He found he wasn't opposed to using Christian's money or his love for Zara to help him track down Dmitri. Especially since his backside was a little vulnerable at the moment.

  Setting his empty glass on the table, he turned his attention back to his host. It seemed like the time to find out if Christian Bernier could indeed help him. “Right now, I need to find Alexandrov Dmitri."

  "His prison reprieve was well financed,” Christian said without missing a beat. He lifted a porcelain coffee cup to his lips. “It should not be that hard to find out who provided such monies and follow the trail. The only reason the French authorities have not found Vos Loo is because the two men have bought themselves new identities."

  It was no surprise that Christian knew about the prison break. It had made the International Herald Tribune in Paris and most of the British dailies as well. Lawson agreed with his theory on the new identities. “I think both men are here in Switzerland."

  Christian nodded slowly, mulling the idea over. “Geneva?"

  "Possibly."

  Again Christian nodded, his gaze falling to the pool. “Private banking and an international community. Makes sense. But what does dear Alexi need with Dr. Vos Loo?"

  "Vos Loo is a chemist. He specializes in biological agents."

  Christian's attention returned to Lawson. “Weapons?"

  "With the research universities and companies around here, Vos Loo has easy access to what he needs to create biological weapons."

  "But for whom?"

  "The Italian Mafia."

  Christian's brows lowered. “You have names?"

  "Varina Scalfaro. Yvette LeMans. A bodyguard named Giovanni. A customer or possible business partner of Yvette's named Rogan Janvrin who was arrested two nights ago for drug possession."

  "Janvrin? The computer wizard?"

  "You know him?"

  Christian picked up a carafe and poured more coffee into his cup. “His wife. She's publicity chair for our local arts council which serves the Alpine Diamond—Geneva, Lyon, Basil and Turin—helping local artists promote their work and bringing cultural events to the area."

  "What can you tell me about Janvrin?"

  "He was a technical prodigy hired by the Swiss Institute of Technology when he was eighteen to write software code for laparoscopic surgery simulators. He now heads The Image Medical Group's technology team. They specialize in virtual reality simulators for the medical field."

  Lawson toyed with his knife, flipping it end over end. How did a computer geek fit in with a terrorist, a biochemist and the mob? “He apparently enjoys the company of women other than his wife. Recreational drugs too."

  Christian's expression turned bemused. “What man doesn't?"

  "Do you think his wife knows about his indiscretions?"

  "She has quite a list of her own.” His head came up and his eyes zeroed in on a spot over Lawson's left shoulder. “'She moved with a slowness that was a sign of richness; cream does not pour quickly.’”

  Even before he followed Christian's eyes, Lawson knew he was referring to Zara. She walked through the veranda doors, smiling and saying something in passing to Marie. The maid dipped her chin and curtsied.

  Zara turned her smile on the two of them as she walked across the patio toward the table. She looked refreshed, her skin flushed and her eyes bright again. She was wearing a pale pink dress with some kind of gauzy material over it which seemed to float around her knees. On her feet she wore a pair of ballet slippers.

  Lawson heard the sound of Christian's chair scraping on the inlaid concrete, and he too pushed his chair back from the table and stood.

  Christian stepped around him and reached for Zara's hand. Immediately, the show was back on. “Feeling better, love?” he asked as he led her to an empty chair between them.

  "Yes.” She lifted her face to Lawson's as she accepted the seat. “I hope you didn't wait for me."

  Lawson sat and pushed his plate back, suddenly feeling a bit like a country bumpkin compared to the aristocrat next to
him. “Sorry, I didn't. I was starving."

  "Me too. I'm hungry enough to eat a cow whole."

  Christian clucked his tongue and reached for the carafe of coffee. He poured some into a clean cup and set it in front of her. “Meat is bad for you, my dear."

  Zara glanced at Lawson as she sipped the steaming coffee. “Christian's a vegetarian. No meat of any kind."

  "Clogs the arteries and weighs the body down. Sure death to a dancer.” He motioned to Marie and she scurried to the table. “Bring Ms. Morgan one of Gunther's fabulous omelets, s'il vous plaît, and some fresh croissants."

  Marie hurried off, and Zara said to Lawson, “So what were you two talking about?"

  Before he could answer, Christian jumped in. “Why, ballet, of course.” He reached for a bowl of cut-up fruit and placed a spoonful of melon on her plate.

  "Really?” She quirked a brow at Lawson. “Was Christian entertaining you with his great success stories?"

  Lawson wasn't sure why Christian had lied about the conversation topic, but before he could decide whether or not to go along with it, Christian interceded again. “I was just about to tell your friend what an exquisite ballerina you were.” He speared a piece of melon and looked at Lawson. “Her talent was exceptional. Guaranteed future with the Royal Ballet."

  A flicker of sadness crossed Zara's face as she stared into her coffee. When she looked up and met his eyes, she smiled, brushing the sadness aside. “He says that about all of his students."

  "I do not.” Christian set down the fork and tapped his chest with his closed fist. “The dance was in Zara. Inside, you understand? It came from her heart. She is one of the few I have ever worked with who had pure, genuine talent. Just like her mother."

  Zara unfolded her napkin and laid it on her lap. “I loved dance, but it wasn't meant to be."

  Christian dished melon onto his plate. “C'est vrai, but you could have done it, Zara. You could have been greater than Olivia. If only she had not fallen in love with your father. But then, you would not be here, right? It is a shame for the ballet world both of you gave up so soon."

  "My mother gave up ballet for love.” Zara's voice was a fraction lower than Lawson was used to, but every bit as spunky. “You know I had an injury and decided I wanted to do something else with my life. Not the same thing."

  Christian studied her for a long moment. “You were injured, this is true, but you defied the doctors and danced again."

  "Not competitively."

  He shook his head. “Your talent is wasted."

  The urge to defend Zara rose in Lawson like a flash fire, but he saw her lips thin in resolve. She didn't need him to come to her rescue.

  "I have many talents,” she said, looking Christian squarely in the eye, “and none are wasted. You of all people should understand exactly what I'm doing and respect my choices."

  Marie arrived with Zara's omelet, a basket of warm croissants and a carafe of fresh coffee. Zara thanked her and she nodded, picking up the empty carafe and returning to the house. Lawson watched Zara dig into her food.

  Christian also watched Zara. “Your eye for design and costumes along with your own experience as a ballerina would make you a good choreographer. I could take you on as an intern and make you a great one.” His arm flourished through the air. “You could start your own business and freelance or perhaps gain a spot with Mark Morris in America. He's almost as good as me."

  She swallowed. “I won't give up my job with the CIA for ballet."

  "Ha.” Christian rolled his eyes. “The CIA. As if any such organization could compete with ballet."

  The corners of Zara's mouth slid up. She gave Christian an endearing look. “The next time I have a few days to myself, I'll spend them with you, okay? Maybe I can help with one of your camps next year."

  "I would love that!” He rose and pushed in his chair. “Now I must excuse myself. I have a few phone calls to make and other business to attend to. Marie will prepare your rooms, and you know you are welcome to use the pool and the riding stables and anything else that appeals to you. Lunch is on your own. Just tell Marie what you'd like and she will pass it on to Gunther. Dinner will be at eight tonight. Please dress for it.” He took Zara's hand, bringing it to his lips. “I will see you then, love."

  He nodded at Lawson. “The names you mentioned. I will investigate and see what I can find out."

  Lawson nodded back. “Appreciate it."

  He disappeared into the house.

  "What names?” Zara asked.

  Lawson's phone buzzed on his hip again. He turned it off. “He knew about Dmitri and Vos Loo. I told him we suspected they're connected to the Mafia. He asked for names and I gave him what we had. He thinks he might be able to dig up something for us."

  Zara helped herself to a croissant and broke it in half. “Christian has a lot of contacts, but I don't want to drag him into this."

  "The minute you showed up on his doorstep, you involved him. No one knows we're here and we won't be staying."

  "If he starts asking too many questions, or asks the wrong people, he could end up in trouble."

  "He's very shrewd and he wants to help. He has connections here in Switzerland. We need him."

  Zara frowned, breaking a piece of bread off and dropping it into her mouth. Lawson shifted in his chair to stretch his legs. “Do you visit Christian often?"

  Laying the corner of the croissant on her plate, she shook her head. “I came for a weekend right after I was stationed in Paris, but I never found the time to visit after that."

  "Did you leave that dress here?"

  Zara glanced down at the dress and back up at him. “This isn't my dress,” she said in that don't-be-silly voice of hers.

  "Then whose is it?"

  "It's Christian's. He has a whole room of clothes and accessories like this."

  Lawson didn't like the Technicolor images his brain suddenly conjured up. “Is Christian gay?"

  Zara sat back in her chair and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Because he has a room full of women's clothes automatically makes him gay?"

  "No, that makes him a transvestite, and yes, I do know the difference."

  Zara gave him a disgusted look. “I didn't say he wears women's clothes. He's friends with several designers—Donatella Versace, Ralph Lauren, Marc Jacobs. They often send him samples of their new lines, both men's and women's, and he keeps a variety of clothes on hand for his guests. The estate is like a mini-resort. He entertains all sorts of people. International dignitaries, movie stars, you name it. The clothes and shoes are part of the package. His guests love it and it's good for the designers too. He often makes sales. That's why they keep sending him their stuff."

  Lawson grinned at her. “You didn't answer my question."

  "What difference does Christian's sexual orientation make?"

  "It doesn't.” He shrugged. “I'm just curious.” Which was an understatement. Lawson's gut told him Christian Bernier was totally infatuated with Zara. If it turned out the man was straight, he was going to have to punch him in the face the next time he called Zara my Zara.

  "Last I knew,” she said after a minute, “he swung both ways."

  Not what he wanted to hear. “And do you ever swing with him?"

  Her jaw dropped. “You think I would sleep with Christian? My God, he was my ballet instructor, and besides he's at least fifteen years older than me and—” She stopped and her eyes narrowed. “Are you jealous of Christian?"

  Him jealous of a guy who taught ballet and walked around in designer-labeled clothes? No way. Hell, the guy didn't even eat meat. Lawson affected a disinterested face. “I told you, I'm just curious."

  She leaned forward and pinched his leg, doing her Cheshire-cat impression. “Better be careful, Commander. I hear he loves tall, dark and dangerous guys like you. He's probably upstairs in his office right now figuring out how he's going to talk you into swimming laps with him so he can see how your package fills out a Speedo."


  She was so cocky, Lawson chuckled. “You're supposed to be my partner. Can't you protect me?"

  Now she laughed and he laughed with her, enjoying the moment's reprieve from their serious situation.

  "I don't know.” She tried to turn serious. “Are you going to stop bossing me around?"

  "Whatever you want,” he answered, bringing his face close to hers. He was pretty sure he meant it too. With every passing minute, he knew he'd do anything to keep the sadness out of Zara's face and make her smile. Jump tall buildings? No problem. Fly faster than a speeding train? Piece of cake. Reverse time and give Zara the chance to make Dmitri pay? He'd give it a shot.

  Her eyes flickered with challenge. “You're on."

  She stood, threw her cloth napkin on the table and looked down at him. “I'm going to go take a nap, but tonight after dinner I want you to come to the Tower Room with me. There's something I want to show you. And"—she winked at him conspiratorially—"you'll be safe from Christian there."

  Lawson grabbed her hand, pulling it to his mouth and kissing the top of it like Christian had a few minutes before. “Bless you, love,” he said in his best British accent.

  She rolled her eyes and tugged her hand out of his. As she marched back to the house, he smiled smugly to himself. She had invited him to her room after dinner. Damn, that was a fine thing.

  Pushing himself out of the patio chair, he stretched and watched the sun on the pool water again. He needed to call Hoffman and see what he could track down about Yvette and her relationship to Varina and the Mafia. Then he was going to grab some sleep. In the past forty-some hours, he'd had less than three hours, and if things went the way he planned, he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight either.

  Tonight, he'd be drinking a special brand of rich cream, and he'd be damned if he'd waste one single drop of that opportunity.

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  Chapter Twenty